


Witness

by Two_Fooles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Snippets, Vietnam War, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:33:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22572547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Fooles/pseuds/Two_Fooles
Summary: Just a few snippets from an idea I was developing. Not sure if I'll do anything with it.Was looking at writing a pretty long fic based on the Vietnam War. Cas is a reporter. Dean is a grunt.Pretty happy with what I have so far, mostly looking to see if anyone is interested in a groovy gay war story.Three partial scenes. Feedback would be very much appreciated.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Witness

The long grass around him danced. Between bullets and half-seen soldiers, the blades twisted and bent.  
It’s the last thing Dean should have been paying attention to in the middle of a contact, but he supposed he had to pick something to focus on. The sounds of battle were always too loud, and yet the noises made by his squad were always too quiet. He heard someone cry out to his left and moved, unthinking. The sound was halfway familiar. Dean wasn’t sure what it was until he got there, and he wished it had been anything else. He found himself crouching over Garth. A skinny kid from Nebraska. Garth was sweet and stupid and he didn’t deserve to be here, bleeding out in the grass in front of Dean, crying for his mama, still trying to shoot the already dead VC with his jammed M16. The grass danced here too.

Dean pressed down on the bayonet wound in Garth’s abdomen. He knew he was talking, rambling, trying to keep Garth calm, trying to get the kid to stop screaming. He had no idea what he was saying. Garth didn’t either, so Dean figured that made them about square. Dean yelled for a medic before he pulled out a field dressing and wrapped the kid up as best he could. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The sounds of battle were fading around them. It had been a small ambush, but brutal. His hands were slippery. In a moment of almost painful clarity, Dean was suddenly focused on Garth, and the task at hand.

Garth was pale, not that that was anything new. He’d always looked stretched out. He moved as though his own body took him by surprise. He’d proven to be a decent soldier, though. No killer, but disciplined and good at taking direction. He’d won over the local children by making sock puppets with the scrappy remains he was constantly trying to darn in his spare time. The medic shouldered Dean out of the way. Garth was a sweet kid, and Dean would be damned if he’d die here in this yellowing grass on the arse end of the world. He told Garth exactly that. Garth looked up at him like he believed it. Dean was sure glad one of them did. 

*******

The children were giggling. The boldest among them had been throwing peanut shells at the sleeping man. He was asleep by a public fountain in Saigon, laid out on his back on the thick concrete lip of the pool. He was scruffy, wrapped in a tan trench coat, and determined, it seemed, to sleep through the children's game. That is until one of them ventured too close, and the man leaped up, chasing them and laughing. They squealed and scattered. The older kids hoping that the encounter would culminate in gifts of sweets or small change. Some of these Americans were a push-over. Castiel yelled out in their native tongue that they were all incorrigible. They laughed. Finally, he called them over and bestowed chocolate bars on each of them, asking about who their parents were and what they did. They dispersed, and Cas moved on. He was looking for a contact to get him to the Viet Cong ranks. He wanted to report the war from as many angles as he could. To do that, he needed local knowledge. 

******

The moon was gibbous and silvery. It’s light illuminated the little garden, playing in Dean’s hair as he sat on the grass. A cigarette burned between the fingers of his right hand where it rested lightly. The soldier’s face was turned up to the sky, his eyes closed. Despite the brightness of the moonlight, Castiel couldn’t quite make out Dean’s freckles as he walked towards him, beers in hand. He sat beside Dean, maybe a little closer than he should have, their thighs pressed together solidly once Cas settled. Dean hummed but didn’t move until Castiel grumbled for a drag of his cigarette. Dean smiled as he handed it over, watching the filter tip on Cas’ mouth, watching the deep drag and exhale a little while after. Castiel smirked in response, slightly raising an eyebrow. Dean, always much braver than most men, continued watching unashamedly, his eyes not leaving Cas’ mouth until he was done looking. When he was, he unhooked one of the beers from Cas’ hands and sipped it. His eyes scanned the perimeter of the garden. 

”You never did say why you stopped working at Newsweek.” He said.

”I thought you knew why I stopped working at Newsweek.” A little confused about the topic.  
Dean looked at him again, 

“I do know why you stopped working at Newsweek… I think I do, but you never said why. So I can’t be entirely sure. So, I’m asking.” 

It was a statement, there was no fire, no judgement in it, just a simple question. One Dean knew didn’t have an easy answer.

”Well, Newsweek won’t allow women to be journalists… so, someone like me… with my preferences… my proclivities… it was only a matter of time before they pushed me out. After all, how are you supposed to trust a sissy with something so important as war?” He took another drag of the cigarette as Dean sipped thoughtfully on his beer. 

“You ain’t no sissy, Cas.”  
Cas just let the words settle amongst them.

”What about you, Dean? Who first called you a sissy?” Cas wasn’t sure whether the question was brave or stupid, he hadn’t meant to ask it anyway. But there it was now, hanging in the air between them, crushing the ones that had come before. Dean looked at him for the longest time. Cas looked back, schooling his face into a neutral mask. 

“M-my Dad.’, Dean croaked out, ‘My Dad was the first.” He finished the thought stronger, clearer.  
”I was barely a teenager. I made friends with a kid down the street, we were just playing together. It wasn’t like that, but he - my Dad - saw something in me. I don’t know what I did, how he saw something I didn’t know yet…But I wasn’t allowed to see that kid again. I don’t even really remember anything about him. But I remember that sting of shame.I remember it deep and clear…”

Cas watched Dean struggle for a moment before he offered his own story.

“For me, it was my brother. Luke saw me with a boy when I was in High School. I got home, still giddy from the feelings of young love reciprocated, and he was waiting for me in my room. He asked me if I had fun being a filthy pervert. Told me that he’d tell everyone that I was a sissy, that they’d shun me, hate me… He’d tell everyone what I was… but not then… not that day, but one day. So I spent my entire adolescence in fear. Waiting for him to out me. I even dated a girl for a little while, Meg, but the way he’d smile wide and mean when we were together…”

“When did he spill the beans?”

“He never did. It was just a way for him to have power over me.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“You have no idea.”

“Tell me about Meg. Why did you choose her?”

“She chose me. She was determined to be my friend. I think she knew we were both somehow defective and decided we were kindred spirits. She’s the closest I’ve ever come to finding a soul mate. She smokes too much, swears, behaves entirely unlike a lady and I have seen her take more than one biker down with her right hook.”

“She sounds like one helluva gal.”

“Yes. I think she’d hate you.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t hate you… and she can be jealous.”

*******


End file.
